Drawbridge

This is not your ordinary ballad

With a perfect little bow around the middle

And a black man on a white horse

Or a white man on a black horse

It's got all these tired parts where

We don't even sing at random

Princess, raise the drawbridge

We don't serve your kind

It ends where it begins

And the beginning isn't pretty

Can't forget that not-so-perfect

Bow around the middle ('round the middle, 'round the middle...)

Har-bour (???) [said like har-bow?]

And it goes a little something like this..

New walk in a broken sole, pedigree incessant

Got (Gut?) the cruddy frame

The zealots enveloped inside the belly of the blame

Cut-throats the result of pope jokes soaked in poacher constants

And now the jewel emits cold, wander prominent.. honour (honour)

I bought up silkworms by the bucket like starter kits

So you first bought a stitch

Joined damaged mammoth brigading caper

Nurse the tantrum with a fantasy chaser

I keep the spare wings strapped to my fuses

In case the hackers snatch the plumage

So you mean these things are worth money

Now drifting off

This is the who-you-calling-homeless

Mock me fearful

Twisted ???? ???? and I got front row seats at the d-d-d-d-dead concert

And you're in it, Ichabod

Running out of most from the Alamo we're moseying

My kind of people moseying

With my eyes patched universe

So I back it and gave my verdict

Oh it'll be soon (real soon) immune to doom blends

I eat ditch in the kitchen 'til every spoon bends

A glance along tomorrow, sorry

Looking not at hopefuls, where's the raindance

My little flint never dreamed would flood unpotable

See I sanitize nothing for the sake of contemporary taste

Contemporary taste made my lip drop in the first place (incoming)

Hmm, yo why not be a czar, analyze fallen heroics

Recognize root of the worship, search and hold it

Who put the fun in dysfunctional? I..

Chronicle sun combustible, donkey-punching pinholes

In uncomfortables and conjunctionals for good (good)

Dr-rink up, slop a goblet of dirt wine (???),

I nurse a single application of introvert, serpentine

Now a sunset without a scrape of red an-an-and plastic bag

Now sunk around his head sick-sick-sick-sick...

The sickness likeness in the roofer's eyes and his alone

And nothing terrible happened to the bag

And brought on out...

And clouds...

The hiss cuts out...

Suppose it's noise...

And the piano...

And the window frrraame...

Sky and dirt that's fresh... kept

From where I'm going... holy other

Holy other, holy other, holy other...

B-B-B-B-B-But

I've got charcoals in my heart, I've got charcoals in my heart

I've got charcoals by the armfuls that burn my armor apart

I've got charcoals in my heart, but I've got charcoals in my heart

I've got charcoals by the armfuls that burn my armor apart

And before, when I said 'Shut the fuck up, it's none of your business'

That was to be in vain

You shoulda locked that up when you're all finished

Finished yet? Now uhm...

I usually finish this number with uh... my skull up

Everybody rally around the novel burners, spit, murder the matches

Where the junkies trade diseases and the gullible trade passions

Then the masses wanna lean on me like 'O Captain, my Captain'

Not considering maybe this oarman hosts orbit attachments...

Button, button, who's got the button

Take my name, please...

Button, button, who's got the button

Leaks the little checker-men made out of lightning in my

Oh, you like to help with goats see what I got in this here locket

This is not your ordinary ballad

With a perfect little bow around the middle

And a black man on a white horse

Or a white man on a black horse

And I can't forget the not-so-perfect bow around the middle

Har-bour